


Brain Food

by AgentOHare



Series: Combiner Vores [4]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Belly Rubs, Burping, Digestion, G/T, Gen, Stomach Ache, Vore, fatal - Freeform, indigestion, upset stomach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 04:50:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentOHare/pseuds/AgentOHare
Summary: “Conclusion: Decepticon is compatible with Cybertronian digestive tract.”Computron saw an overlap in between his two missions. It was only logical to kill two birds with one stone...





	Brain Food

**Author's Note:**

> This took a while, sorry for the wait. Please rate and comment, it gives me life~

“Affirmative. Primary mission: eliminate Decepticons.”

 

This was how Computron, the titanic combined form of the Technobots, functioned. He categorized his objectives as missions in order of urgency. The giant had spotted Decepticon troops approaching the solar tower he was guarding alone and sent the data to Autobot command. Upon analysis, it was determined that the Decepticons were stragglers, chancing a raid in order to obtain the energon that Galvatron denied them.

 

Energon, Computron reviewed, was a potent superfuel that served as the primary power source of all Cybertronian life forms. More than 75% of the Cybertronian consisted of the substance, the rest being various metals ingested to be broken down into supplements for the armor, built into repair nanites, or converted into protoform. Other palatable fuels included oil, petroleum, gasoline, rocket fuel...

 

...Why was he thinking about  _ fuel _ all of a sudden?

 

_ *brrrrrrrrrbl...* _

 

Oh.

 

He felt a rumbling in his abdomen.

 

“Observation: internal fuel reserves have been depleted. Secondary mission: refuel.”

 

Computron remained stone-faced even as his empty tank whined with hunger. Caressing his flat, gurgling belly with one hand to quiet it, he hid himself behind the tower as the enemy signals drew near.

 

Two Decepticons crested the hill and, erroneously thinking the coast was clear, made a beeline for the solar tower. The tower was thick enough to obscure a bot Computron's size. As it appeared, the rest of the raiding party was either ordered to remain out of sight or got cold pedes and stayed hidden.

 

When the hapless duo rounded the corner, they ran straight into Computron’s leg, one smashing right into it. Moments like these really served to remind a ‘con just how big gestalts were. The leg was three times as wide as the Decepticons themselves and towered far over their heads. Computron looked down, his searing yellow visor seemed miles above.

 

Computron seized the offending Decepticon before they could break out of the trance brought on by their fear and awe. He had one con in his hand and the other pinned down with a massive foot. Offhandedly, he noted their size. The cons were as tall as his palm was long. 

 

All of a sudden, he had an idea. 

 

The gestalt’s visor became blindingly bright as he scanned his captives. Scan complete, he analyzed the new data.

 

“Material composition of opposing Decepticon: 7.586% Tungsten. 5.28963% Iron. 0.245901% Copper...”

 

Computron rattled off a list of materials and their percentages in his distinct flat monotone, confusing the Decepticon who was not-so-subtly looking for a way to wriggle out of the combiner’s hand. But Computron’s grip was sure, so the bot had nowhere to hide when the giant reached his conclusion, made no less chilling by the monotone.

 

“Conclusion: Decepticon is compatible with Cybertronian digestive tract.”

 

Computron saw an overlap in between his two missions. It was only logical to kill two birds with one stone...

 

“Primary mission: eliminate Decepticons. Secondary mission: refuel. Conclusion: consume Decepticon.”

 

Said Decepticon couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

 

“Y-you won’t really  _ eat  _ me, will you!?”

 

Computron did not answer, but his stomach did.

 

* _ grrooooaaaan _ … _! _ *

 

The combiner simply opened his mouth and pushed the panicking bot inside with a huge finger. His prey flopped facefirst onto the enormous wet glossa. 

 

The mouth… didn’t really smell like anything. It was just hot. Hot and sopping wet.

 

Heedless of the con’s horrified scream, the combiner set to work lubricating the morsel. Digestion began in the mouth, with most fuels being chewed up and mixed with saliva for lubrication. In this case, Computron decided to forgo the chewing to speed up the process. The glossa tingled against the onslaught of sensory information that had Computron not been occupied with his current missions would have been processed in the CPU. The gestalt simply did not pay attention to taste, only his duty. Nevertheless, his mouth welled with drool, so that when he finally swallowed the con was washed down the slick tunnel with ease.

 

Computron’s esophageal tube was a peristaltic pump: a protoform tube ribbed with mechanisms that pinched sections of it in a downward wave, pushing the bolus along at a controlled pace, a bolus being the mass of fuel, or in this case a struggling Decepticon that is being swallowed.

 

Decepticon #2 obviously didn't care about any of that at the moment.

 

“You ate him, you monster!” he stammered, watching the outline of his comrade travel down the giant's throat. “S-spit him out! Right now!”

 

“Negative.” 

 

And Computron reached for the hapless con, grasping him just as the first one reached his stomach. His victim didn’t even have a chance to scream before the maw closed around him as well.

 

The bot was slurped inside and immediately nudged over to the base of the glossa, face-to-face with the throat. The uvula hung overhead as if it was a signpost pointing straight down into the dark abyss. ‘Caution, point of no return’, it said. But the mech was so slick that any move he made to resist only served to propel him forward. It was only a matter of time before Computron gulped, and he too was hugged by the dark throat and forced to slide down into the slimy confines of Computron’s fuel tank. It truly cemented in the con’s mind that the cold, logical combiner viewed him as a fuel source and nothing more.

 

He screamed all the way down.

 

Within moments, bolus number two landed square in the pit of the tank, right next to his comrade who was preoccupied with punching the walls of his slick prison. He needed no prompting to join in, screaming his head off in desperation as stinging acids began to seep and pool in the pit of the tank. Both of them knew in the back of their minds that it was in vain, but they weren't going to die without putting up a fight.

 

“Primary and secondary objectives  _ -hurp-  _ complete.” Computron stated, taking a moment to let some excess gas out of his tank. “New objective: analyse battle data.”

 

As it turned out, two bots of average height ended up filling Computron’s belly out nicely, though not enough to be visible to the naked eye or to stretch out the tank in any way. He was comfortably full. 

 

With two Decepticons battling his belly, the gestalt sat cross-legged on the ground and began to process the data (and the Decepticons) that he had collected as if nothing had happened. A myriad of lights flashed on his chestplate as he combed through the battle footage and analyzed every last variable. Much like the increasingly sluggish Decepticons in his tank, the information was being broken down and digested. The flashes of light danced in time to the gurgling of his busy tank.

 

He remained there for five hours, data-sifting in peace, until something problematic happened.

 

Computron’s theory that the Decepticons were a viable food source was solid. That was to be expected from a walking supercomputer such as himself. It was perfect on paper. And it would have been perfect in practice as well, had it not been for one troublesome variable.

 

Lightspeed.

 

The sports car had many talents, but one of his greatest weaknesses was his allergy to most fuels, which required him to take a lead sulfide additive every time he refueled. Otherwise, almost nothing agreed with him. Many a night saw him sleepless due to tank pains from taking too little additive, writhing on his berth and clutching his rebelling stomach.

 

This, along with the fact that physical traits tended to carry over to the gestalt, was the one thing Computron overlooked. The type of energon found in the Decepticons’ bodies was just one of the many things that upset Lightspeed’s tank, among with the various other metals and fuels, not to mention the foreign materials stuck to their armor.

 

Suffice to say, the two Decepticons laying like rocks in a certain gestalt’s belly were  _ not _ making him feel well. Had he been a more emotional combiner, he would have been cursing Lightspeed’s digestive issues right now.

 

A terrible ache formed in Computron’s stomach as his fuel tank struggled in vain to digest the corpses. It squeezed and twisted, grinding until it cramped horribly. He felt bloated, and a burning sensation formed in his chest. This compromised the gestalt’s concentration.

 

The pain was getting worse by the second, and it was just too distracting. He had to stop and let his tank rest.

 

“What you Computron doing?”

 

Ah, Grimlock. Ever so timely. 

 

“Greetings, creator. Current mission: process battle data.”

 

“G’job braniac.”

 

And he brought Kup along too. Computron put on the same indifferent face he always wore, to mask the storm brewing in the pit of his stomach.

 

He couldn’t hide it forever, unfortunately. His tank let out a long, airy, distressed gurgle-groan of a sound that only spelt out pain for the tank that it came from.

 

Naturally, this concerned his creator.

 

“You OK?”   
  


Computron gave a small grimace in response to a surge in the burning sensation.

 

“Recently ingested fuel is causing gastric distress.”

 

Grimlock just looked confused. Luckily, Kup was there to explain.

 

“He means somethin’ ain’t sittin’ right in his guts.”

 

“Oh…” Grimlock turned back to Computron. “So your tank hurt?”

 

Computron nodded, still in that awkward half-kneeling position so as not to put more pressure on his belly. His stomach cramped anyway, and he could not hide the wince that flashed across his normally still features. A broad crimson hand was pressed against his upset stomach.

 

To top it all off, his tank decided then to churn sickly and very audibly.

 

Kup looked at the giant and couldn't help but feel bad looking at how sick Computron looked.

 

“Yep. Big guy’s got indigestion all right. Nasty case of it, too.” With that comment, Kup opened up a comm line to Perceptor and began to share the details of the situation.

 

Meanwhile, Grimlock was tapping his chin in thought.

 

“Hmm…” Grimlock’s optics met Computron’s. “Lie down. Me help.”

 

The combiner complied, lowering himself slowly so as not to crush anything underneath or agitate his tank further. Grimlock made his way to Computron’s side and laid a hand on the gestalt’s abdomen, feeling mechanisms grind and tense underneath. Even to the Dinobot’s comparatively light touch was Computron’s stomach sensitive, it appeared.

 

Grimlock’s hand ran across the abdominal plating, feeling for bubbles and air pockets. He found one soon enough, and began to rub, then push and knead. Computron bit back a groan; he did  _ not _ enjoy the extra pressure on his tank.

 

He continued to massage the combiner’s gut, maneuvering the air pocket higher towards Computron’s chest. Suddenly, a loud burbling noise made itself known. At this, Grimlock gave a final hard push.

 

A muffled  _ pop _ was heard. The stale air trapped in Computron's tank was forced up into the esophageal tube, rushing up and emerging as a sickly burp. 

 

* _ hrraaap!* _

 

Kup made a face.

 

“Primus, Computron! What did you  _ eat? _ ”

 

The combiner did not answer that question. Even if he had intended to, anything Computron may have said would have been cut off by the next belch. His tank was starting to bubble.

 

_ Bubble _ … That was a sign that a chemical reaction was taking place. Most likely digestion. That meant that Grimlock’s plan was working!

 

_ *huuurp!* _

 

...Or perhaps it was just gas. Nevertheless, the expulsion of gas from his tank did serve to diminish the uncomfortable bloating a bit. Just a bit.

 

“Alrighty then,” Kup’s voice cut through, “Percy’s gonna bring you summa that tank additive Lightspeed uses and we’ll see if that helps.”

 

“Computron  _ -urp-  _ appreciates.”

 

Soon, Perceptor arrived, barrel of chemical in tow. By that time, Grimlock’s massage had forced out quite a few belches and loosened the tense abdominal mechanisms somewhat. Computron was still in pain, however, as the treatment helped the bloat but did absolutely nothing for the Decepticons sitting like rocks in his tank.

 

“Here, Computron. This lead sulfide solution should help settle your tank.”

 

The gestalt accepted and drank down the contents of the barrel.  _ Ah _ , that was it. The burn was beginning to neutralize already. His visor dimmed in relief. The hot cramps cooled and diminished more with every swallow until the barrel was empty and the aching dulled to a barely noticeable throb.

 

“Computron: thanks Perceptor. Gastric distress was interfering with calculations.”

 

“You’re welcome. I recommend that you rest for a while, so as not to strain your tank.”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

With that Computron laid his head down to rest and dimmed his visor. He had more data to process, sure, but it wasn’t critical. As his systems cycled down for a nap, a small but decidedly serene smile found its way onto his face.

 

For the moment, his mission was complete. His new mission was to rest and digest, which was going smoothly so far. He was lulled into recharge by the warmth of the alien sunset and the quiet bubbling of his soothed fuel tank.


End file.
